


The Nights We Steal

by LadySmutterella



Series: Tell Me I'm A Bad Man [2]
Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Drunk Sex, First Time, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Tickling, Unrequited Love, Unrequited Lust, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Unsafe Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-13 11:35:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5706187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySmutterella/pseuds/LadySmutterella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there is one thing that Mikey wants – has always wanted – it’s for Gerard to notice him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Nights We Steal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jiksa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jiksa/gifts).



If there is one thing that Mikey wants – has always wanted – it’s for Gerard to notice him. 

He remembers when he was three, when Gee was seven, and they were playing out in the yard. It was a warm day, must have been summer, and they were eating ice cream and pretending that they were on a spaceship. And everything was great, better than great, until they hit the asteroid belt, and the ship (a cardboard box their mom had given them) was hit by turbulence, and in the ensuing chaos, Mikey had dropped his ice cream. 

Mikey had watched, in slow motion, as the cone tumbled, end over end, as it landed, ice cream end down, in the dust, and had burst into tears.

“No.” Gee was by him in a second, his arm around Mikey. “No, Mikey, don’t be sad.” He’d held out his own cone, waited until Mikey had it held firmly in a grubby paw before he’d let go. 

“I’ll take care of you,” he said, his face creased with how serious he was. And Mikey believed him, has never stopped believing him ever since.

It’s a pattern that’s repeated itself throughout Mikey’s life. It doesn’t seem to matter where he is, what he’s doing – Gerard is there, making sure he’s never left behind, that he’s included, that he understands. He’s the one who gives Mikey his first comic, who sits with his arm around Mikey’s shoulder helping him read the long words; it’s Gerard Mikey goes to when he gets into his first fight at school, and it’s Gerard who cleans his grazes and cuts and listens without judging while Mikey stumbles over explaining why Shane shouldn’t have been saying those things about Becca. It’s Gerard who brings him to his first party, gives him his first beer, sits next to Mikey on the train ride home after Mikey’s kissed his first girl. It’s always Gerard; Gerard and Mikey. The two of them against the world. 

—

Things change when he gets older. 

Now he feels Gerard’s eyes on him and he burns with it; wants it more, wants it different, wants it better. 

But he also understands that he can’t have this forever. Gee is _cool_. He’s older and knows things and now he’s in college and he’ll find someone of his own, and soon he won’t need Mikey anymore. 

“This is my brother,” he’ll still say to them, but he won’t look at Mikey as he says it, won’t care – not as much, not enough. 

If Mikey was a better brother – a better _person_ – he’d want this for Gerard, he’d be happy for him, but Mikey knows himself, knows he isn’t and he won’t be, not now, not ever. 

He wants to matter; will always want to matter. And if that means that Gerard has to be alone, well. Mikey will try to make it so he doesn’t notice that he is. 

“C’mon,” he says, when it’s apparent that Gerard is planning to spend another Saturday night at home alone. “Come to the party with me.”

Gerard hums and doodles something on a sketchpad. It’s evasion – Mikey recognises it well enough, and he rests his head on Gerard’s arm, positioning himself so his chin is digging into Gerard’s bicep. 

“Come on,” he says again. “Gee. Gee. Gerrrrrarrrrd.” 

Gerard huffs out a sigh and Mikey has to bite back a smile. 

“You’re not going to leave me alone if I don’t, are you?” And Mikey is waiting for Gerard to get upset but instead he looks fond and Mikey can feel something warm and happy uncurl in his chest. “Okay. Fine. I’ll come.”

Mikey buries his face in the curve of Gerard’s arm to hide his smile. 

“You’ll enjoy it,” he says, because he _will_. Gee is _amazing_ and everyone at Eyeball loves him, because of course they do. 

Gerard puts his arm around him, wary, like he’s a strange dog, and Mikey has to fight to stop himself from pressing into the embrace because these days Gerard does this so seldom. 

“I’ll try,” Gerard says, and Mikey makes a promise to himself that he’ll make sure that Gerard has the best time, will make sure he doesn’t regret coming. 

—

Mikey’s not sure when he first notices that Gerard likes to watch. 

It might be when he’s kissing the girl with the tattoos and piercings, pressing her up against the fridge at a party, running his tongue over the swirls of colour that mark her shoulder. 

It might be when he’s dancing with Gabe, grinding in the middle of the dance floor, light-headed with the way Gabe’s controlling him, guiding him like he’s the one in charge. 

It might be with any of dozens of people on any of dozens of nights when Mikey is trying to find something, _someone_ , for himself. Someone who will be there for him when Gerard doesn’t need him any more. Someone he means something to. 

The point is, he notices. Notices the way Gerard’s eyes track him, track _them_. Notices how Gerard reacts. And it changes the game, because this… this is something Mikey can give him. 

He starts choosing people he thinks Gerard will like, who Gerard would want to watch. He makes it easier for Gerard to find them, starts to bring them home with him even though he’s avoided doing that so far. 

The first time that he fucks one of them, fucks them when he’s fairly sure Gerard is watching him, his heart is in his mouth the whole time, and he’s so nervous he can barely get hard, much less come. 

Instead he tries to prove that he’s a good lover, using his mouth and his fingers on her until she’s gasping out moans, pulling his hair to guide his head. She’s uninhibited and enthusiastic, and feeling her tremble under him, tasting her pleasure, he can almost forget why he’s really here, can get hard enough to fumble on a condom and fuck her, can give Gerard a good show. 

He hopes it’s enough as he holds her afterwards, awkward now like he wasn’t earlier. She’s sleepy and sated and warm in his arms, but Gerard is alone now, and when she goes, after he kisses her goodbye at the door, he creeps to Gerard’s room, tries to work up the courage to knock. 

He can’t find it, and in the end he creeps away again, goes to bed and pictures what Gerard might be doing, pictures Gerard's hand warm inside his shorts, how he’ll be stroking himself fast, his lip caught between his teeth, trying to keep quiet. Mikey wonders what he's thinking about. If he's thinking about that girl from earlier, about how she arched her back and shuddered as she came around Mikey's fingers, if he’s proud of of how good Mikey was, if he noticed Mikey at all. Mikey’s mind chases the thought, and he’s relaxed now, the fear and tension just the vaguest of memories, and he’s finally able to get off.

__

Gerard sleeps with men.

Mikey knows this because Gerard’s told him.

They’ve just gotten home from a party, and it’s late, but Mikey can feel energy crawling over his skin, and Gerard takes one look at him and drags him down into his room, digs out a bottle of vodka from under his bed, and slumps down next to him, not seeming to care that the bed is unmade, that the lousy springs mean they end up slumped together in a cocoon of blankets and sheets that smell of Gerard. 

They’re both buzzed already, and now, drinking in the muted light of the basement, they both pass the line into drunk, bickering about comics, about films, about the million things they know and love and share in common. 

Mikey loves watching Gerard talk, even when he’s drunk like this. Maybe especially when he’s drunk like this. It makes him effusive, enthusiastic. Less aware of the boundaries he’s carefully been putting between them when he and Mikey have been alone lately.

He has his hand on Mikey’s arm right now, giving an animated lecture on heteronormativity in the Star Wars universe, and Mikey is fuzzy drunk and content and not really watching what he’s saying.

“Would you ever…” he trails off, as Gerard pauses mid-diatribe about Luke and Han’s relationship.

“What?” Gerard fixes him with a look. “Sleep with a dude?” He reaches for the vodka and drinks, looking away from Mikey now. “Yeah. I mean, I _have_ , so…”

It’s quiet for a moment, for the heartbeat it takes Mikey to wrap his drunk mind around the words, to make them make sense. 

“You like guys?” Mikey’s voice isn’t much above a whisper, and Gerard smiles, small and tight.

“Yeah. It makes sleeping with them easier,” he says, then looks at Mikey. “Is that gonna be a problem?”

“No.” The word is out before Mikey considers it, because, Jesus. The last thing he wants is for Gerard to think he’s _judging_ him. “No, Gee. Never.”

“‘Kay.” Gerard relaxes a little. “I hoped it wouldn’t be.” 

“Wait.” Mikey pauses, considers what Gerard’s just said. “You’ve been worried about telling me?”

Gerard shrugs. “You’re my brother,” he says, like it’s obvious. “I love you. What if you thought I was disgusting?” 

“I’d never think that,” Mikey says, and reaches out to hold Gerard’s arm because he needs him to understand this. “You’re amazing. Anyway…” he looks down at the torn knees of his jeans. “It would be kinda hypocritical if I hated you for _that_.” 

“You like guys, too?” 

He can feel how tense Gerard is next to him, but he can’t look up, just shrugs, trying and failing to count the threads of the rip on his left knee. “Maybe.” The word feels like it’s louder than it is, because he normally avoids thinking about this, even in the darkness of his own mind. “I mean, I haven’t really done anything, but…”

“But it’s how you feel,” Gerard finishes for him, and he nods, relieved. “That’s okay, Mikes.” He puts his arms around him, pulls him into a careful hug. “It’s fine. You never have to do anything you don’t want, and nothing you feel is ever wrong.” 

That cuts too close to the bone for Mikey, and he huffs out a breath that might be a bit too close to a sob, and, finally, Gerard forgets he should be careful and holds Mikey close. 

“No,” he says into Mikey’s ear. “I mean it. It can be confusing sometimes, but what you feel is normal, and experimenting is good. Trust me.”

He pulls away then, tousles Mikey’s hair, passes him the bottle. Mikey wipes his eyes and takes it, and lets the burn fill him, clean all the rough ends away. 

“How do I know?” he asks when he thinks he can talk again without his voice breaking. “How do I know if I really like men if I’m too scared to do anything?”

“You’ll work it out.” Gerard smiles at him, like they’re sharing secrets. “I’ve seen you dancing with Gabe – you’ll find someone to try this with, and if you don’t like it,” he shrugs, “you ask them to stop and they will, and you don’t need to do it again.” 

“Is that what it was like for you?” Mikey looks at Gerard as he asks, sees the secret smile that Gerard hides in his drink. 

“Yeah,” he says. “But I didn’t want to ask him to stop.” 

“What was it like?”

The question startles Gerard and he looks up at Mikey as if he’s not sure he should answer. But Mikey wants to know, _needs_ to know and Gerard seems to see some of that in his face. 

“It was good,” Gerard says, and Mikey can see how he’s torn – how he wants to tell Mikey because Mikey’s _asked_ , but can’t because Mikey’s his brother. “Hot. I, um… I enjoyed it.” He looks up at Mikey, clearly torn. “I dunno what to say, Mikes. What do you want to know?” 

For a second Mikey isn’t sure what to say. There are so many things, and maybe, right now, Gerard will tell him. 

“What did you do?” he asks at last. “The first time.” 

Gerard looks at him for long enough that Mikey thinks maybe he won’t answer, and then he sighs. 

“It was a club,” he says. “And I’d been dancing with this guy. And…” he blushes. “We went back to his place, and he sucked me off.”

“Was it good?” Mikey asks, and Gerard nods.

“Blow jobs are always good,” he says. “Even bad ones.” And Mikey nods, remembers three days ago when an improbably red-headed girl had sucked him off upstairs in the kitchen while he hoped that Gerard could see them. She hadn’t been that good, her rhythm too erratic, too careless with her teeth, but Mikey had come, hard and loud, and hoping it looked better for Gerard than it had felt for him. 

“Did you suck him?” he asks to distract himself from the memory. “After?”

Gerard blushes red to the tips of his ears, but he nods, and that’s what Mikey wants to know. 

“What was that like?”

“Different.” Gerard’s still blushing and Mikey has to bite back a smile at the sight. “I mean, you can’t pretend it’s a girl, not when you have his cock in your mouth, you know?” 

The thought makes Mikey giggle and it eases some of the tension. “How did you know what to do?”

“Just thought about what I liked,” Gerard says, braver now. “Tried not to let my teeth hurt him, so I covered them with my lips.” The image hits Mikey, visceral, and his breath catches, but Gerard doesn’t seem to notice. “He seemed to like it though.” His eyes go unfocused, like he’s remembering the moment. “He came, like, fast.” He shakes his head, smiles at Mikey. “I nearly choked. I mean, I knew I was sucking his cock, but I hadn’t thought about what would happen when he came, you know?” 

Mikey nods, dumb, because that is _all_ he can think of right now. 

“Anyway,” Gerard shrugs. “It was fun. I enjoyed it, he enjoyed it.”

“Did you see him again?” Mikey asks, more concerned about this, because what if Gerard has a secret boyfriend he’s been hiding from Mikey?

“God.” Gerard looks alarmed. “No. No. He’d never have worked out.”

“But you did do it again?” Mikey tries to hide his relief, but he’s probably lucky they’ve drunk so much by this point, that Gerard isn’t watching him closely. 

“Yeah.” Gerard smiles, fond. “It’s art school in New York. There’s plenty of guys there who want to try things out.”

“And you fucked them?”

“Some of them.” Gerard is suddenly very interested in his nails. “Some of them fucked me.”

Mikey’s mouth is suddenly dry and he can’t swallow. “And you let them?”

“Yeah. It’s…” Gerard looks away, his blush back full force. “Fun.”

“Doesn’t it hurt?” And Mikey knows he shouldn’t ask this, but he can’t seem to stop, and Gerard is looking at him like he just wants to help, and it’s so fucking _Gee_ that Mikey is dizzy with it. 

"It doesn't hurt," Gerard says, like he needs Mikey to understand. "Not if you do it properly."

"Properly? Mikey asks, unsure, and Gee's eyes light up, like they do when he can help Mikey with a problem he's stuck on.

“You need to be patient,” he says. “And use lube. Lots of lube.” He nods his head emphatically. “It’s not like fucking a girl. You don’t get wet down there, no matter how turned on you are. So you use lube and fingers.”

“Fingers?” Mikey says faintly, and Gerard nods again.

“To stretch the muscle. Or, I mean.” he colors again, looks away. “It can be fun by itself, even if you’re not going to fuck anyone.” 

“Can you do it without that?” Mikey asks, because it seems too intimate, not something he’d like, and Gerard shrugs. 

“You can,” he says. “But you’d need to be relaxed or you’d get hurt.” He looks at Mikey, concerned. “Don’t let it scare you. It feels good, and if you meet someone you like then it won’t feel as weird as it sounds, I promise.” 

The thought that Gerard accepts he might do this, is _encouraging_ him to do this makes Mikey feel hot-cold-shivery. 

“Was it weird?” Mikey asks. “The first time someone did it to you?”

Gerard pauses and thinks. “A bit,” he says at last. “But I’d… you know. Done it to myself, so I kinda knew what to expect.” 

“Oh.” Mikey blinks at the image of Gerard, on this bed, on these _sheets_ , fucking himself with his fingers. He hopes the room is dark enough, that Gerard can’t see how hard he is right now. 

“Anyway,” Gerard nudges him with his shoulder. “It was less weird than the first time someone rimmed me.” 

It takes a moment for Mikey to parse the words because this isn’t something that he’s ever thought people did in real life. This is the stuff of porn and giggled conversations with his friends when they’re drunk, and he thinks he’s maybe misunderstood until he catches sight of Gerard unconsciously running his tongue over his lips, and, oh. He sits up straight. “Isn't that _dirty_?” he asks, before he can think better of asking.

Gerard’s eyes dart to his face, then away. “It helps if you have a shower before,” he says, bites his lip. “And, you know, sex is kinda best when it’s dirty.” 

"And you've done that?” Mikey still can't keep the shock out of his voice, and Gerard flushes. 

“Yeah,” he says, looking anywhere but at Mikey. “'S'fun, you know? Like when you go down on a girl and they make noises and push into you and you know they want you.”

He trails off, reaches for the bottle, pulls it from Mikey’s slack grip, and Mikey, caught up in what Gerard would look like doing _that_ – what it would feel like to have it done to him – doesn’t bother trying to stop him. He lies there for so long that Gerard flicks the last light off, covers him with the blanket, and wriggles around until he is comfortable. It doesn’t take long for his breathing to even out, for it to be punctuated with the occasional snore that is a sure sign of how drunk he is. Only then does Mikey reach down, flick his pants open and jerk off furiously, biting his lip against the noises he wants to make.

Later, after he’s woken up, hangover stale, for some reason on the floor of Gerard’s room, and picked himself up to do the usual Sunday things, Mikey finds he can’t get the thoughts out of his head. 

Finding gay porn online is more nerve-racking than he thought it would be, and he worries that it won’t do anything for him, and the first clips of heavily muscled men ploughing away with machine-like efficiency just make that fear worse.

Then he finds a clip of a boy, all dark hair and pale skin, sucking cock – sucking it like he enjoys it, like this is something more than a job he’s being paid for – and it turns out that maybe this _does_ do it for him after all. 

_It feels good_ he remembers Gerard saying as he lets his fingers drift lower, lets them graze over his hole, and then he’s coming so hard that he’s seeing stars, feeling his muscles clenching and releasing in a whole new way.

—

Joining a band with Gerard is maybe the best thing that’s ever happened to Mikey. 

This isn’t kid stuff, he thinks. Not any more. They’re gonna make it big – he can feel that in his bones. And he’s going to be next to Gerard when they make it. 

Okay, so it’s not just going to be the two of them, but Ray is cool, and Mikey is _happy_ , happier than he’s been about anything in a long while.

And then Gerard meets Frank and all Mikey’s daydreams about the future evaporate in the face of the reality of what is most likely going to happen. 

Mikey has seen Gerard interested in people before; seen people be interested in him. He just hasn’t seen anything quite like _this_. Gerard is _fascinated_ , hunting Frank out to ask him questions about movies and comics and music and all the things he usually talks to Mikey about, and Frank blossoms under the attention. Mikey needs to do something drastic if he’s going to keep Gerard for himself – and even then there is a sick voice in the back of his mind that looks at Frank – at how hot and funny and talented he is, at his tattoos and the curve of his wrist when he’s smoking up, at how unafraid and unabashed he is – and whispers to Mikey that there is _nothing_ he can do, nothing that will let him compete with Frank. 

But he can’t help but like Frank. He’s always around now, giggling and butting in on conversations; leaning over Mikey’s shoulder when he’s trying to read and wanting to turn the pages before Mikey’s finished reading. They’re all things he should hate, but he _can’t_ , and he isn’t sure if it’s the mixtape Frank slips him of bands he thinks Mikey’ll like, or the coffee Frank sometimes brings him, or just the fact he’s _Frank_ that makes the difference. 

So, he doesn’t care that much when he bumps into Frank at a party, and Frank immediately asks where Gerard is. 

To give Frank credit, his smile doesn’t dim at all when Mikey just shrugs. He saw Gerard slink off when they arrived, knows he’s probably hiding away with a drink somewhere upstairs, but Frank’s got his arm around his shoulders and he doesn’t feel like sending him away to chase his brother. 

Instead he lets Frank pull him into the party, helps him hunt for drinks, stands in the corner of an overcrowded room while Frank shouts in his ear about the book he’s been reading and what he thinks Mikey would like most about it. 

He’s getting used to Frank now, doesn’t expect to be given any personal space when he’s around, and he’s not disappointed. And Frank’s drinking so he’s more tactile than usual, drumming his fingers on Mikey’s bicep as he talks, poking his chest to make a point, and if they were anywhere else, if they were with people who _didn’t_ know Frank, he’d be wary, keeping an eye out for the sort of assholes who would make something of two dudes touching like this. 

But everyone here does know Frank, knows Mikey, so he lets himself enjoy the contact, does his best not to overthink it. In fact, it’s only when Frank grips his wrist and pulls him outside into the yard to smoke that he even realizes that Frank might possibly be flirting with him. 

The thing is, he’s normally _good_ at this, at picking up all the subtle signs that someone might be into him, that with the right looks, the right words he might be able to bring them home and take them apart somewhere where Gerard can watch them.

Maybe it’s because Frank’s a dude that he hasn’t noticed; maybe he’s so used to thinking of him as _Gerard’s_ , but until Frank lights a cigarette and puts it, still damp with his saliva, between Mikey’s lips, takes another in his mouth and leans close to Mikey so he can light it from the cherry of Mikey’s, Mikey has no idea. And now their smoke is mingling together in the night air, and Frank’s fingers are still warm on Mikey’s arm, holding him still, and Mikey finally thinks _oh_. 

This is perfect, he realises. If he’s with Frank, Gerard won’t be able to look away – will have to watch Mikey. It makes terrible, drunk, sense, and as he lets Frank pull him close and start swaying to the music that drifts out to them, he wonders why he hasn’t thought of it before. 

Because Frank is easy to flirt with, he’s funny and smart, and in his own way, he’s a lot like Gerard, right down to his ridiculous drunk giggle. 

It’s that thought that makes Mikey brave, that means when Frank whispers “Wanna go somewhere private?” in his ear, he nods. 

He glances around then, looking for Gerard. He can’t see him – still hasn’t seen him since the start of the evening – which means he’s taken a bottle and gone somewhere quiet. Probably the coat room, Mikey thinks, and he lets Frank lead him up there, their fingers tangled. 

“Mikey,” Frank says when they get to the upstairs, and the sounds of the party and the music and the people have dulled and retreated. “Hey, Mikeyway.” 

He’s looking at Mikey with dark, intense eyes, and Mikey swallows, nervous, because this is new. He doesn’t sleep with men – doesn’t kiss men – and he rarely messes around with anyone he classes as a friend. But Frank’s hands are gentle, his touch sure, as he reaches out and trails his fingers over Mikey’s jaw. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, and Mikey remembers what Gerard said, remembers he can ask Frank to stop if he doesn’t like this, so he nods. 

He doesn’t know why he’s surprised that Frank kisses like he means it, but he is. It’s gentle and thorough and it leaves Mikey breathless. 

“Frankie,” he says as Frank pulls away, and he reaches out, catches Frank, pulls him back. 

“Yeah,” Frank says, his breath ghosting over Mikey’s face as he speaks. “‘m here.”

Mikey kisses him this time, harder, more demanding, and Frank melts into it, moans into Mikey’s mouth, bites at his lips. 

They’re so tangled in each other now that they stumble, bang against a door, fall through it, and Frank takes the chance to pin Mikey, to pen him in. 

“You’re amazing,” he says, and he nips at Mikey’s jaw. “I want you, Mikeyway.” 

And it doesn’t matter how this started, _why_ this started, there is something captivating about Frank. Mikey lets himself be pinned; doesn’t fight back even though he could. 

Frank notices, and his smile turns feral. He starts biting lightly – too lightly – at Mikey’s jaw, his neck, his ears. 

“Gonna make you beg,” Frank promises. “Gonna make you wild for me, Mikey.” 

He sucking a mark into Mikey’s neck now, and it makes Mikey breathless. But he settles his arms around Frank’s waist, feels his coiled energy, how alive he is. 

“Is that what you say to all the girls?” he asks, and Frank chokes out a laugh. 

“Only the pretty ones,” he says and kisses Mikey again. 

It makes Mikey laugh, makes him cling to Frank, not caring who is watching, makes him kiss Frank until they’re both breathless, until he feels touch-drunk with Frank’s hands, kiss-drunk with Frank’s lips. 

“Mikey,” Frank says against his skin, close enough that Mikey shudders. “Mikey, Mikey, Mikeyway.”

“What?” And he should play it cool, he knows, but Frank wants him so much – is so open about it – that Mikey _can’t_. 

“Wanna see you naked,” Frank says, and starts to pull at Mikey’s shirt. “Jesus. Mikey. You’ve been flirting all night. D’you have any idea what you fucking look like?” 

“No,” he says, even though he thinks he knows what Frank is seeing. “Why don’t you tell me, Frank?” 

“Like a fucking tease,” Frank says, “who needs to be fucked.” He presses Mikey into the wall and kisses him again. “Now, get out of those pants.” 

“Maybe I want to hear pretty things first.” Mikey shimmies out of Frank’s arms and spins, shirtless into the centre of the room, hoping that Gerard is here, that he’s watching. “Maybe you should be trying to impress me, Frankie.” He smiles at Frank, poses like a cheesy stripper dancing at a bachelorette party, flutters his lashes. 

“You’re so _pretty_ ,” Frank says, and even though his voice is teasing there’s an edge of honesty there that gives Mikey the courage to undo his belt, start to open his jeans. “Jesus, Mikey. I’ve no idea how you even get into those things. They look painted on you.”

“But you’ve been watching though.” Mikey says and takes a deep breath, turns around so he’s facing the dark part of the room where he’s sure Gerard is, where Gerard’s watching. “I’ve seen you.” 

“Of course I have,” Frank’s voice is low and dangerous. “Been wanting to peel you out of them.”

Mikey smiles at that, and when he looks up from under his lashes, he finally sees Gerard, hiding in the corner of the room, like darkness and shadow and the cover of a wardrobe would ever be enough to hide him from Mikey. And even though he only gets the barest glance, this is _familiar_ – he’s been here before – and he knows that Gerard’s cheeks will be stained pink, that his hands will be clenched and his muscles tense, like he doesn’t know if he should reach out or run away.

“So, get over here,” he says, wishing he had the guts to say it to both of them, “and do it.” 

He barely has a second to catch his breath before Frank is on him, pulling his jeans off and kicking at the back of Mikey’s knee so he can wrestle him to the bed.

Frank hisses as he gets Mikey’s jeans down and sees what’s underneath. 

“Commando,” he says, like all his Christmases have come at once. “Mikey, you _slut_.” 

“Easier,” Mikey tells him, and Frank moans. It’s such an honest noise, so real, that Mikey has to roll onto his back so he can kiss him again. “You complaining?”

“Never.” Frank runs the pads of his fingers down over Mikey’s stomach, making him shudder. He looks up then, his eyes dark and fathomless and Mikey bites his lip as Frank strips off his clothes in quick, economical movements.“C’mere, Mikey,” he says. “Let me touch you.”

It’s easy to obey that request, to let Frank press up against him, naked and already hard, and if Mikey is still nervous, still slightly shocked at how hard and hot Frank is, then Frank’s hands are gentle, distract him and ground him. 

“Hey,” Frank says against his lips. “Doing okay?”

“Yeah.” Mikey trails his fingers down Frank’s ribs. “‘m good.” Frank squirms against him and he repeats the touch. “Frankie?” he whispers. “You ticklish?” 

“Never.” Frank is giggling now, wriggling and it makes Mikey smile, makes him start tickling Frank in earnest. 

It’s hard to be scared when he’s laughing, and it’s only when Frank starts bucking, flips them over on the bed that Mikey remembers he’s ticklish as well. 

Something must show on his face because Frank raises an eyebrow.

“Really?” he says, delighted. “Oh, Mikey.”

He attacks, full force and feral, tickling fingers and nipping bites and doesn’t give Mikey a chance. It’s perfect and Mikey, bucking and writhing, is finally able to relax. 

“Hey,” Frank says at last when they’re both panting. “Wanna fuck you.” 

Mikey bites his lip, but he’s hard, can feel how hard Frank is as well against his hip, so he nods his head. 

“Is there any lube?” he asks, because he remembers Gerard saying that lube was important, and Frank leans over him, pushing his stomach in Mikey’s face, making him giggle as he hunts through the drawers beside the bed. It’s obnoxious, and Mikey bites at him, worrying the skin with his teeth and Frank gasps. 

“No lube.” Frank pulls away and flourishes a bottle of hand lotion at Mikey. “Just this.”

It’s not lube, but it’s what Mikey’s used on himself, so he shrugs, lets his legs fall open, sees how Frank’s eyes widen, how he licks his lips. 

He finds it difficult to relax to begin with. Frank is touching his ass with tentative strokes that catch on his rim and make him want to squirm, and he fights to stay still because he's scared that Frank will realise how new to this he is; will laugh at him while Gerard can hear. 

But then Frank huffs out a breath and rests his face against the inside of Mikey’s knee. 

“I haven’t done this before,” he says, and he looks up at Mikey, a complicated expression on his face. It makes something twist in Mikey’s chest and he reaches down so he can touch Frank’s hand. 

“I haven’t had anyone do it to me,” he tells Frank, even though he doesn’t want to say it, doesn’t want Frank to know, doesn’t want Gerard to hear.

Frank closes his eyes and his fingers tighten around Mikey’s before he pulls away, pets Mikey’s knee in an oddly comforting gesture. They’re both overwhelmed, he realises, and that makes it easier this time when Frank reaches out to touch him. He lets his legs fall further apart, sighs as Frank runs his fingers, cool with lotion, slickly over his hole. 

“Ready?” Frank asks and he nods, breathes into it as Frank slides a finger inside him. 

It’s strange – not like when he does it to himself, because Frank isn’t predictable, moves in unexpected ways. He’s using two fingers now, circling his hand and stretching the rings of muscle in a way that isn’t wholly comfortable, no matter how much lotion he’s using. 

“How does it feel?” he asks Mikey, and Mikey swallows, remembers that Gerard can hear him, can see _everything_. 

“Strange,” he says, even though he wants to lie, because it is, and Frank deserves as much honesty as Mikey can give him. “I dunno. Just…”

He sees Frank frown in concentration and then he does _something_ and, oh. Mikey gasps. 

“Is that it?” Frank looks worried, like he’s scared he might be hurting Mikey. “I mean, I read about it, and I kinda explored, you know, on myself, but it’s different when you’re doing it on someone else.”

“Yeah,” Mikey blinks, picturing Frank fingering himself. His cock jumps and Frank presses again and… “Yeah. That’s it.” 

It makes Frank smile, and Mikey sees some of his fear dropping away. 

“We’re naturals, Mikeyway,” he says, his eyes glinting, wicked, and Mikey realises with a shock that Frank is enjoying this, is enjoying doing this to him. “Ain’t nobody gonna be able to stop us.” 

He presses again, and it’s nearly too much. Mikey groans, and arches back on the bed, basking in Frank’s gaze, in Gerard’s, shamelessly displaying himself because he wants to be seen. 

“Gotta fuck you.” Frank’s voice is rough, but his hands are gentle on Mikey’s skin. “Please.”

And Mikey’s scared, but Frank _wants_ him and that’s enough for Mikey to say yes all by itself. 

“Yeah,” he says, sitting up, because he needs to see Frank now, needs to see Gerard behind him, thinking he’s so well hidden, but not able to hide – not when Mikey knows where to look. “Yeah, but, Frank…”

Frank looks at him, his eyes dark, and he looks like he understands, and Mikey takes a breath, relaxes, because Gerard was right – he can say stop now, can say stop later, and Frank will listen to him. 

“I'll be gentle,” Frank says, taking Mikey’s hand in his. “I'll make it good for you, I promise, Mikeyway.”

He’s so earnest that Mikey believes him. And he can hear Gerard move, just a small movement, nothing that would be obvious if he wasn’t listening for it, and that’s comforting too. _Gerard won’t let anything bad happen to me_ , he thinks, and the thought gives him courage, so he nods. 

“You have a condom?” he asks, because he knows Gerard would want him be safe, and almost laughs at the look of alarm on Frank’s face. 

“Fuck,” Frank says. “I don’t." And Mikey knows with that one look that the condom doesn’t matter, that he’ll let Frank fuck him any way he wants. 

He lets Frank hunt for a condom though, more to see what he’ll do than because he expects he’ll find one, and he isn’t surprised when Frank turns to him, his face a picture of mischief. 

“Hey,” he says, and Mikey has to swallow back a laugh. “Mikeyway. Let me fuck you without a condom.” He schools his expression into one of faux innocence and blinks up at Mikey. “I promise not to knock you up, and if I do, I'll marry you.”

It’s such a ludicrous image that Mikey can’t hold back his laughter any more, and when Frank laughs with him, all Mikey’s nerves evaporate. 

“Gonna ask for my hand?” he asks because he’s not letting Frank get away with this, and Frank boggles at him.

“Sure your brother will give it to me,” he says. “He knows quality when he sees it.”

“That's not all he wants to give you,” Mikey says, feeling mean, wanting Frank to remember who he’s with right now.

“Really?” And Mikey doesn’t think he’s imagining the excitement in Frank’s voice now. “Maybe I should go find him, then. Maybe he'll let me fuck him bare.”

“Maybe you should shut up and fuck me already,” Mikey says trying to keep the bitterness from his tone. “Unless you'd prefer my brother that is.”

He’s close to getting upset about this, calling the whole thing off, but Frank shakes his head, tightens his hand on Mikey’s thigh. 

“I want you, Mikeyway,” he says. “You know that.” He waits until Mikey breathes out, nods, before smiling at Mikey, small and tight. “How do you want to do this?” His eyes are wide and he’s drinking in the sight of Mikey under him as he slicks himself up, and it makes Mikey feel valuable, feel _seen_.

It’s not something that Mikey had expected to be asked, and he’s not sure how to answer. “How do you usually do it?” he says, playing for time. Frank shrugs.

“Not done it with a dude before,” he says, like it’s something he’s ashamed of. “You want me to fuck you missionary? I can kiss your face and say pretty words in your ear…”

“Fuck off.” The words are instinctive, something to hide behind, because there is no way that Frank is serious – no way he knows that this is what Mikey actually does want. It’s too much to ask from a one night stand, and he turns over on the bed, taking the decision away from Frank. “Or fuck me.” He reaches down, stroking his cock and playing the whore for Frank’s hungry eyes. “Unless you’re too chickenshit, Frankie.” 

He’s expecting the smack before Frank’s hand moves and he pushes back into it.

“You’re gonna be sorry you said that,” Frank says, rubbing the head of his cock across Mikey’s hole and Mikey shivers. He starts to push in and it makes Mikey’s breath catch. This is bigger than fingers, warmer and larger and softer than the toy he tried once. It’s a cock – Frank’s cock – and Mikey can’t escape how real this feels. 

“This okay?” Frank asks, and Mikey has to stop himself from crying, because it’s almost painful and overwhelmingly real and he’s not sure he can cope. 

“Hurts,” he says and tries not to ask Frank to stop, to get off him. “Gimme a second.”

He’s worried that Frank won’t; that he’ll move anyway, but Frank is careful and he stops dead, rubbing his hand in circles over the small of Mikey’s back. It helps, but Mikey is still overwhelmed. _How does Gee enjoy this?_ he thinks. _How can he let people do this to him over and over again?_

It must get better, he decides, and he remembers what Gerard said about relaxing, about the weirdness passing, and he imagines what he must look like now, spread out for Frank to see, for Gerard. He shivers at the thought, and Frank strokes his sides, firm, gentle strokes. 

“Take your time,” Frank says. “We’re good.” It’s enough to ground Mikey, to help him relax and he pushes back slightly, hears Frank hiss.

“Jesus, Mikey.” His voice is wrecked. “You feel…”

Mikey isn’t sure he wants to hear this right now, but Frank’s tone is so warm, so wondering, that Mikey lets the last of his tension drain out of him. 

“Okay,” he says, fighting to keep his voice steady. “You can move.”

It still feels weird as Frank pushes all the way in, slightly invasive and almost uncomfortable, but he can feel the tension coiling through Frank, can feel how hard he is, and that’s a buzz. 

And it gets better when Frank reaches around, takes Mikey’s cock in a loose, lotion-slick grip and lets Mikey fuck his hand until he starts to feel pleasure rising, coiling tight in his belly. 

He lets his head slump forward, pinned firm between Frank’s hand and his cock, losing himself in the sensation, when he suddenly realises _this is what it would feel like if Gee was fucking me_ and the thought shocks the orgasm out of him, making him clench around Frank in a way that’s strange and perfect as he spills over the bed beneath him. 

“Fuck.” Frank sounds desperate. “Can feel you coming. You’re so _tight_.” 

He groans and fucks into Mikey, hard and almost too much in the aftershocks he causes. He’s coming, Mikey realises, eyes wide. He’s coming in me, and he clenches again, feels a different sort of pleasure twist deep inside him. 

It feels strange afterwards. He’s sore and open and he can feel Frank’s come slipping out of him as he moves. He’s not sure what to say, and Frank seems to get that, heads off to get him a drink, letting him know that he’s there; that the next step is up to Mikey. 

He smiles at Mikey before he goes, genuine and warm, and maybe a bit afraid, and Mikey feels something uncomfortably close to guilt in his chest. 

Frank likes him, he realises. Properly likes him. And what Mikey did just now wasn’t fair. 

He can’t feel remorse though, not really, not when he’s aware of Gerard watching the entire time he collects his clothes, dresses slowly, making a show of it. 

He hesitates before he leaves the room, wondering if he should make eye contact, if he should let Gerard know he _knows_ , but he’s scared again. Scared and ashamed and convinced that if he says anything, it will all come crashing down. 

Maybe he will find Frank, he thinks as he slips out, rejoins the party. Maybe he’ll call him tomorrow and ask him if he’d like a coffee, if he wants to see a movie. 

Except they decide that the band needs a second guitarist, and Frank, eyes wide with delight, says yes when Gerard asks him if he wants to join them. And Mikey can’t do this.

He likes Frank – likes him too much to make him a pawn in whatever he has going on with Gerard. So he pretends not to realise what Frank means when he asks if Mikey wants to come over for a Star Wars marathon, turns up with Gee and Ray and pizza and they have a great night. And he hopes he images the tiny flash of hurt in Frank’s eyes before he laughs, claps Mikey on the shoulder and settles in as Mikey’s friend, his platonic partner in crime. 

It doesn’t stop him fucking around, though. Doesn’t stop him bringing a string of scene kids home and fucking them where Gerard can watch. 

And Gerard watches, and Frank pretends not to notice, and everything works. 

Until one night when they’re on the road between DC and Baltimore and they’re sick and exhausted and Mikey doesn’t think he’s ever felt this alone, this homesick. 

Frank finds him outside the gas station, hiding from the fluorescent lights and loud voices and junk food that the others are indulging in and he takes one look at Mikey and his face twists. 

“Mikey,” he says, and his voice breaks on the word. He reaches out, stops his hand before he touches Mikey’s face, and he looks so sad, so young, that Mikey can’t stop himself. 

He steps forward, presses into Frank’s space, kisses him. Frank holds very still, too still, for long enough that Mikey thinks he’s misjudged this, that he’s made a mistake he won’t be able to recover from. He starts to pull back, starts to summon the words he’ll need to apologize, to fix this, but Frank catches him, pulls him back, kisses him properly. 

It’s forgiveness, Mikey thinks, acceptance. Absolution, maybe. And the thought overwhelms him, because he cares about Frank, who’s talented and patient and the best friend he could have apart from Gerard. 

Tomorrow will look after itself, he thinks, and if he can’t get all of what he wants, at least he can get a part of it. Because he really does want this.

He kisses Frank again.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, my grateful thanks to Jiksa for her support and cheerleading and beta reading skills. 
> 
> Any mistakes that remain are mine.


End file.
